


Turbulent Emotions

by distant_thunder



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3728806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_thunder/pseuds/distant_thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set on the journey home after the events in Serbia, Sherlock wonders why Mycroft personally decided to 'rescue' him. He isn't expecting the response he gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbulent Emotions

It became common knowledge that the only person of whom Mycroft cared for was his little brother, common enough that it would later be used against them. However, such subtle gestures to the man himself were sparse and rare that it would be hard to believe if given the evidence of their shared childhood. To a Holmes, though, these few moments amounted to a love confession and a bond that would transcend time. Well, it wasn't taken that way. Holmes weren't only emotionally unintelligent, but also stubborn.

"Whatever happened to us?" Sherlock murmurs, as he traces a curved line against the fabric of the seat in front of them, picking at the uneven stitching, because he doesn't know but wants to understand. How did young adventures in the garden, exploring and explaining occuring phenominion transform into scoldings and barely veiled insults (not to mention the festive dinners)? It seems too far away to tell, too distant and clouded. All he knows is said clouds exist and conceal whatever truth lay behind them. Sherlock had learnt that was what to expect from Mycroft, and the consulting detective found himself content with it. Mycroft couldn't complain about his stupidity if he was busy reflecting threats, dodging the real issue. It was nice, to be left alone by him, and his suffocating 'concern'.

Concern. Sherlock snorts at this, which warrents a shift from the corner of his eye. How he would suddenly appear with an insufferable smirk, and act so holier-than-thou with his scathing remarks and how Sherlock stopped them with a easy twist of his wrists. Then, Mycroft did not bother to appear himself, just manipulated in the shadows and sent him to rehab without even appearing himself, like he was nothing but an item to move in some safe, an inconvienance. 'Concern' indeed. And then said item finds its way to Serbia, and the lazy British Government has to get up off his chair and retrieve it himself. But, that doesn't make sense... why him, personally? An MI6 agent could easily master a disguise. A need to be a hero, after being framed for menial mischiefs by his little brother? Or...

Mycroft's calm tone, like a prerecorded message, interupts his thoughts. "What happens to all of us, in the end. No human can withstand another for prolonged periods of time. Friends come and go like leaves among the passing the seasons, and the phrase 'like an old married couple' does have roots from fact," Just like Mycroft to twist a simple question into some grand sweeping statement on the temporary feelings of caring, and emotion. Always willing to teach his little brother.

"Stating it like that suggests, at one point, we did 'care' for another," Sherlock could see Mycroft tilted his head in his direction, and Sherlock waves a hand to disregard his silent protest. "Do not deny it, you were so keen to shape me into some Mycroft 0.2, someone to match your prowess and fix your loneliness. And when I wasn't, I was nothing to you." He left for University with talk of being 'the smart one', and he never sent anything home. He was just some petulant brother at home whilst he had fun at some dull lectures.

"Sherlock, I-"

Not a single heatbeat passes. "Do not mock me. I do not want to be anything to you. I only interact with you due to our shared blood, friends are those that I choose, not those I am born to." Sherlock looks over a the man beside him, and expects some anti-friend comment, as always. However, the roar of a gentle turbulance filles the cabin and he met a cold, icy stare.

Mycroft shifts, looks away. Silence.

Sherlock can hear Mycroft thinking, it roars louder than the outside air in his ears, he is wondering what to say, no doubt planning some retort that would have nothing against it. Sherlock is pleased he is actually pausing in regard to him, that he has the ability to stump Mycroft Holmes. He is getting slow. Old age, or a special someone?

A pause before... "It seems like those you have chosen are not in very good taste. None of them decided to pay you a visit after all, in Serbia." Not so subtly seeking a compliment, and a statement that Mycroft's help is singular and necessary. Still trying? Fairing amusing, after all the times Sherlock has attempted to train the behaviour out of him.

"Well, you merely wished to use me for some case of national importance, my friends do not use me, and therefore do not 'save' me in return for a favour," Sherlock crosses his arms and remembers why he dislikes Mycroft, and willed the conversation to an end. No luck.

"It wasn't just that, Sherlock, do not be an idiot."

Sherlock looks up at this, and sneers, a dark spectical sneer, as if there was nothing left to say that he did not already know. "I'm not. There would be no other reason for this. Unless you are suggesting..."

"I am."

Sherlock scoffs, looks away. Why now?

"I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock shifts in his seat, leaning against the wall of the areoplane and closes his eyelids. "And you decide to admit this now?"

"You needed to be corrected. You were missing a key fact, and were making a conculsion without it."

Sherlock gives a hum of acknowledgement at his brother, and deepens his breathing. It was to be a long flight, and now it was awkward because of Mycroft's sudden, strange confession. He is probably trying to tempt Sherlock out into revealing some, probably lying to see what Sherlock felt for him. He is glad Mycroft doesn't push further, insisting on knowing Sherlock's feelings, because he wasn't sure what he would say in response. His childhood with Mycroft was horrible, save a few moments of solace. But when he heard Mycroft before him, in the icy bunker in chains, it was... something positive. Maybe it was just happiness at an ally saving him.

Mycroft's warm hands bring a blanket around him, and rest on him for a few moments before they vanish.

"Sleep well, we have business to attend to when we arrive at London." Sherlock can't deny he is comforted by his voice, and by the prospect of ignoring Mycroft's confession with the work.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on/reading this. This is my first fanfiction, so I'm sorry if it isn't very good. Any constructive criticism is welcome! Sorry that it is a little short.


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